


A daring plan (Translation)

by redangeleve



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bard offeres himself, Caring Thranduil, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 17:25:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13815930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redangeleve/pseuds/redangeleve
Summary: When the master of Esgaroth deprives him of his livelihood, Bard travels to the Greenwood to sell wine to the Elvenking. For the fear of losing his children to starvation, he is determinated to do anything necessary. Really anything.





	A daring plan (Translation)

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [A daring plan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11447835) by [redangeleve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redangeleve/pseuds/redangeleve). 



> The story takes place before the events of the movie " An unexpected journey". The copyright of the figures belong to R.R. Tolkin, the lyrics belong to Muse, I own nothing but the idea of the story. I write just for fun and don't earn any money with writing it.  
> I am not a native speaker, so if there are any mistakes in the story, I am really sorry. Please be kind, my school days are long gone.

A daring plan

Soothing, I`ll make you feel pure  
Trust me, you can be sure

(Undisclosed desires)

 

One could already smell it, the approaching winter, even if the colorful leaves on the trees persistently refused to fall down to the ground. But in the morning, with the fogs over the lake like a wafting net, one could guess that it was only a matter of time before nature would lose the fight against the elements. Bard put up the collar of his coat as he hurried the horses to go forward. The moisture of the lake hung like a shadow on him and made his clothes clammy. If this did not work, he did not know what else to do. Since the master of Esgaroth had deprived him of his permission to fish, Bard had changed from one odd job to the next, transported wood, materials and waste with his bark to buy food for his children, but nothing had lasted and the few coins he had earned were not enough to stock up supplies for the winter.

For weeks they had eaten three times a day of the soup that Sigrid, his eldest, had cooked from a few marrow bones and cabbage, and Bard could literally see the flesh melting from the bones of his children. It could not go on like that. Still, Bard did not dare to think of leaving town. As bad as the conditions there were sometimes, Laketown was the only home his children knew, he did not want to take this from them. Not after they lost their mother. His wonderful Margery, God bless her, what would she say, if she knew what kind of situation he was in? Nevertheless, he had spent with her the happiest years of his life in their hut in Laketown. Leaving it would be like leaving Margery, too. And where should they go? The nearest cities were too far away to reach before the approaching winter. And he had no guarantee that he would find work there.

As luck would have it, some time ago he had carried a trader from the mainland to Laketown on his bark, who wanted to sell wine. The master of Laketown, greedy as he was, had tried to cheat on the man, why the trader had left angrily without selling anything at all and payed Bard for the crossing with two barrels of wine. Bard himself had no use for the noble liquid and since they were practically the last capital that he still had, it should be divested wisely. For a long time he had thought of who would give him a good price, because in Laketown there were hardly any wealthy people, and there were no settlements in the neighborhood except for the lonely, deserted mountain and the cursed Greenwood. At last a daring thought came to him.

Not many people had ever seen an elf before, but they all knew the stories of the immortal people living in the nearby forest and their king, who was supposedly as old as the forest itself. Old Roderick, who lived in a hut on the West side of the lake was one of the few that had ever been in the forest and returned alive. For years he had traded with the elves, had delivered the salt, which they could not make themselves, from a dwelling in the Gray Mountains to the palace of the Elvenking. By now Roderick's hands were arthritic and his eyes were so bad that he was almost blind, yet he could very well describe the path he had to take to Bard. He also lent him a wagon with horses and provided him with good advices on what to do and what not until Bards ears were ringing. Anyway he had felt a little queasy when he left. He'd told the kids he was going to hunt and that he'd not be back until tomorrow so they would not be too worried.

Although Bard had spent his whole life here, he had never been further in the forest than a few hundred yards. The master of Esgaroth had forbidden the citizens on punishment to enter the forest to hunt and underlayed this prohibition with quite pictorial horror stories. Although Bard did not believe in curses or evil spirits, he did believe in the elves' swords and arrows, and as far as he knew, they did not appreciate poachers in their kingdom. As his wagon followed the path Roderick had described to him, Bard's eyes wandered alertly. At one point, he felt as if he had seen a shadow behind one of the trees, another time he thought he had seen a movement out of the corner of his eye, but there was never anything tangible, more of a feeling, as if he was supervised at every meter he had passed. 

As time went on, the forest became denser and Bard struggled to recognize the direction he needed to drive in the green twilight. When suddenly a broken branch was on the way so that he could not continue, Bard had a bad feeling when he stopped the horses, but he had no choice. Carefully, he dismounted from the wagon to carry the obstacle aside as a rustle made him turn around. His foreboding was confirmed when he saw the wagon surrounded by half a dozen elves. Although the men had turned their weapons on him, Bard was still fascinated by how quickly and efficiently they had circled him. He gazed curiously at the warriors, all of them tall and slender, with pointed ears sticking out of their hair.

"Not a step further, human. You have illegally invaded the territory of Lasgalen. I have to ask you to give me your weapons. "The man who spoke was closest to Bard. Like the other elves, he had long, smooth hair and features as smooth and fine as marble.

"I come from Laketown to trade," Bard explained his request, lifting one hand and slowly leading the other to his waist to hand over his knife. "My wagon has loaded nothing but wine."

"How do you know the way inside the forest? The trade with Laketown has been interrupted for years, "said the elf, who was probably the leader of the group, suspiciously, taking the knife to himself. Meanwhile, two more elves examined the wagon, where they found Bard's bow and the quiver of arrows.

"I am a friend of Roderick. He used to supply you with salt and gave that to me to show that he vouches for my respectability. "With his left hand still raised, Bard pulled out a document with the seal of Lasgalen from the breast pocket of his coat.

Without taking his eyes off Bard, the elf took the letter. A long moment passed while the elf looked at the seal and then inspected Bard from head to toe, until he had come to a verdict. "Well then," he replied, tucking in the letter and signaling the other elves. "Then join us to the palace." He motioned Bard to climb back onto the wagon, then climbed up himself and took the reins. As the horses began to move again, the other elves ran along so lightly that they had no trouble keeping up with the horses.

Deeper and deeper they went into the forest, under low-hanging roots and lianas, until the road was so narrow that the wagon barely fit through it, only to end up suddenly in a clearing. Of course, Bard had asked old Roderick about the Elven Palace, but he had not received a real answer. 'I can not describe it, you have to see it yourself,' the old man had said with shining eyes and he was right. The palace was like nothing Bard had seen in his life. From a distance it looked like a group of huge, intergrown trees, but as he approached, he noticed that the trees had oriels and windows, balconies and roofs, and yet they were clearly living trees with leaves and roots and flowers. In fact, everything here was alive and lush green and not like the trees on the edge of the lake, whose leaves had already turned brownish. The eternal spring of Lasgalen was not a fairy tale after all. Bard looked around with his mouth open as the elves gathered around the wagon and called him down. Although they aimed their weapons at him, they did not seem threatening on Bard, but rather alert and curious alike. 

Presumably he was not the only one for whom it was his first encounter with another species. Despite their long lives, some of them may never have seen a human man. Led by the elf who had been sitting with him on the wagon, the group stepped through the main gate, past other guards, into the interior of the palace. Again, Bard could not get enough of the strangeness of the dwelling. He had somehow assumed that the palace would be like the house of the master of Laketown, with its velvet and silk, pomp and gold, but instead, nature dominated the building. Wood and flowers, stone and water, high ceilings and windows that captured the sunlight and made everything appear bright and warm. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Bard found that he liked it. Nothing seemed artificial or posed, but as if it had to be exactly as it was. Even the ceiling, which was a perfect replica of the night sky, did not look like a painting, but as if it was a window, which of course could not be, there was still daylight outside. So engrossed had Bard been in his contemplation that he did not realize how they finally reached the throne room. It was not until the group stopped that he tore himself away from the sight and looked straight back to where the Elvenking sat elevated on a pedestal on his throne. 

If Bard had been impressed by the palace, that was nothing compared to what he felt when he saw Thranduil. Ageless and beautiful, in a dangerous and sublime way, the Elvenking looked down upon them. Skin as white as marble, the hair with the crown of the woodland kingdom radiant as the moonlight and those eyes, mighty god, Bard had never seen something alike. The glare from the icy blue irises burned his skin as Thranduil stared at him and Bard realized that he was the only one still standing. The elven warriors had fallen to their knees and Bard hastened to follow suit.

"Speak, Finnarel." The Elvenking's voice was dark and seemed to fill the room, though he had not spoken aloud.

"My king," began the addressed warrior. "We found this man on our patrol. He was traveling with a wagon loaded with barrels. "

"A trader?" Disapprovingly, Thranduil drew his eyebrows togehter. "Do not you know that I will not allow anyone to pass through my forest?"

"I did not want to cross the forest, King Thranduil," Bard hurried to assure. "Instead, I was on my way to your palace when your men stopped me. I bring barrels filled with a high quality wine from Dorwinion. They call me Bard and Roderick of Laketown gave me a letter from you to vouch for my respectability. "

The leader of the patrol handed the letter to the Elvenking, who glanced at the seal for a moment before putting it aside. "Roderick was a good trading partner. It is unfortunate that the path has become too difficult for him. Meanwhile, we have to get the salt from very far away. Do you have a sample so I can taste the wine? "

"Of course." Bard pulled a small bottle from his coat pocket and handed it to Finnarel, who was standing next to him. The elven warrior then stepped to the table in front of the throne, opened the bottle and poured a little wine into one of the glasses, which were placed there. At his king's signal, he took a sip of the dark red grape juice and, after realizing there was no poison inside, passed the glass to Thranduil. The Elvenking whirled the wine around in the glass, looked at his colour, examined the bouquet and finally took a sip. Excited, Bard held his breath. Now it depended on if the wine pleased the king. If not, all efforts had been in vain. Thranduil's gaze seemed introspective as he let the wine roll from side to side in his mouth, then finally nodded. "It tastes good. But tell me, why should I buy the wine from you when I'm already doing business with another trader? "

Yes, that was a good question. "It's a good wine, excellent quality. Just as you like it, "Bard praised his goods.

"How can you tell what I like?" The Elvenking raised his eyebrows questioningly.

Excusing, Bard shrugged. "Well, people are talking."

"And what do they say?" Demanded Thranduil.

"That you like heavy, full-bodied wine," Bard replied truthfully.

"And what else?" Thranduil pursued.

Bard shook his head defensively. "I do not want to say that infront of your guards."

For a long moment the Elvenking looked at him, then addressed a word to his subordinates. Though Bard did not understand the words Thranduil exchanged with them, the warriors' response was clear. Apparently they did not agree to be sent away, but an order was an order and apparently the Elvenking did not consider a single human man so dangerous that he would not be able to handle him. Reluctantly, the elven warriors dropped to their knees again until Thranduil dismissed them, then moved away.

As the doors of the throne room closed behind them, the Elvenking got up and dismounted from the pedestal where his throne stood. "Bard." Never before had the man heard his name with such a sound. It was like hearing it for the first time, as if his name had taken on a whole new meaning. Slowly Thranduil took one step at a time until he stood directly in front of Bard. "Speak out freely. Nobody else can hear you. "

The human felt the heat rising in his cheeks. "They say, you like human lovers," he whispered barely audible, eyes lowered.

A soft laugh escaped the elf's mouth. "Should that be an offer?"

"Not directly, but if that's the price ..." Embarrassed, Bard buried his hands in his coat pockets, his eyes still fixed on the floor.

"The price for what?" Thranduil asked.

"The price for buying the wine from me," Bard explained the obvious.

The Elvenking stood so close to him that Bard could see the hem of his robe and smell the scent emanating from the other man. A white hand, strong and yet smooth as silk, reached under his chin and forced it upward, so that Bard had to look directly into the elf's bright eyes. "You would do that?" Asked Thranduil and it was Bard, as if he were looking straight into his heart.

Bard swallowed hard. "I would do anything, sir," he asserted harshly. "Everything."

The Elvenking nodded as if expecting this answer, then released the human's chin and stepped back from him. "Your clothes are not those of a trader."

At first Bard was confused by the sudden change of subject, but he decided to answer as honestly as he could. "This is because I am not one either. I was a fisherman on the Long Lake, but the mayor has withdrawn my fishing permit, since then I work wherever a man is needed. "

"Why did not you just move to Rhûn?" Thranduil asked. "The fishing grounds there should be rich enough that the journey would be worthwhile."

"The road there is too long and arduous before the winter," explained Bard. "At least my children have a roof over their heads here. But we will starve if you do not want to buy the wine. "

"I understand." Slowly, the Elvenking climbed the steps of the gallery again and settled on the throne with his legs crossed. "I do not want to deny that I like your sight and I am quite inclined to accept the offer."

Another wave of heat rushed through Bard's body with this confession, which flattered him as much as it frightened him. "Thank you, my king."

"Do not thank me now, but come closer." 

Bard's legs were shaking when he complied. Clumsily, he climbed up one step at a time, before he came to a stop in front of the throne. As before, he dropped to his knees again and waited for what the Elvenking would demand.

He did not have to wait long. "Get up and take off your coat," he heard Thranduil's command and Bard obeyed. His eyes sought out the Elvenking's and stuck to them as a fly did on a strip of glue. "Unbutton your shirt." The human's fingers trembled, so the buttons slipped out of them again and again, and in his rush, he finally fumbled so much that they tore off and ripped away in all directions and the shirt hung loosely on his body. "Strip it off." Although it was not cold in the room, Bard shuddered as he dropped his shirt to the floor, aware of his nakedness. For a fraction of a moment, Thrandiul's eyes wandered over his upper body, but his face betrayed nothing as he sought the man's gaze again.

"Have you ever wanted a man?"

"No, my king," Bard confidently admitted.

"Or been intimate with one?"

Again, the human negated. "Never, my king."

Supple as a predator, Thranduil slid from his throne and closed the distance to the human in front of him. His hands were hard and yet relentless as they wrapped around Bard's face and pulled him towards him. "Then let me be the first."

Bard closed his eyes as the elf's face approached his. He had known that it could come to that, had sworn to do everything that would be necessary. For his children. For their survival. For their home. Internally he braced himself for the feeling of being conquered by a male mouth, but when Thranduil's lips finally found his, it was very different than he had expected. A soft yet firm mouth pressed against his, demanding but not violent. The skin that rubbed against him was smooth and yet not feminine, edgy and hard, and the smell surrounding Thranduil was like nothing Bard knew. Like fir and sun and dew and moss. Pleasantly unobtrusive. Masculine and yet not like the human men whose scent Bard had absorbed in his life.

In the first few seconds of the kiss, he just stood there with his arms hanging at his sides and let it happen to him, like a doll or a shy maiden, then he took a heart and tentatively put his arms around the Elvenking's waist. He could feel the fine fabric of the silver mantle under his fingers and the muscles that stretched under his clothing. If he would give himself to Thranduil today, he would not be like a dead piece of meat, but like the man he was. It evidently pleased the Elvenking that Bard had awakened from his stupor, for he intensified the kiss, nibbling and sucking on the lower lip of the human until he dared and kissed him back.

Desperately, Thranduil's tongue teased his mouth and Bard opened his lips and granted him entry. Undaunted, Thranduil's tongue explored his mouth, nudging his flesh and challenging him, and Bard surrendered. Their tongues fought a silent fight as their bodies rubbed against each other. Susprisingly Bard no longer found his bare torso uncomfortable, but enjoyed the way the elf's coat teased his sensitive nipples. The moan that escaped his lips was so full of lust that he was almost ashamed of it. Startled, Bard's eyes opened. As they were nearly the same size, he saw directly in Thranduil's bright irises, but he could not see any displeasure in them, but thought he saw the same desire he had felt welling up in them. For far too long he had forbidden himself any intimate actions, living solely for the sake of his children, so that his body now was overly sensitive to the attention the Elvenking gave him.

The blood rushed in his ears as Thranduil finally broke the kiss and there was a hint of pink on the cheeks of the Elvenking, where the man's beard had scratched his skin. Confused by the interruption, Bard sought the elf's gaze, but Thranduil turned away and walked back to his throne where he supported himself as if he needed to gather. Bard's eyes followed him as he struggled to catch his breath. He felt dizzy, as if coming from a confused dream to consciousness and at the same time the thought of having annoyed the elf frightened him. "Did I do something wrong, my king?"

Thranduil clicked his tongue, but continued to avoid the human's gaze. "No, you didn't. The opposite is the case."

"I'm afraid I do not understand," exclaimed Bard confused.

"You do not have to. It does not matter. "The Elvenking opened a small chest that stood beside the throne and took out a velvet pouch, then finally turned back to his visitor. "The gold will bring you and your family through the winter without you missing anything. My men will load the barrels from your wagon and escort you safely back to the edge of the forest. "With that, he dropped the pouch in Bard's hand. 

Confused, the human frowned as he felt the weight of the coins through the fabric. It was obvious he had gotten more than the wine could be worth. "I thought ... I got the impression ... you did not ... not that I am not grateful. No, I am, but it's just so sudden. Thank you, my king, you are very generous, "Bard stammered his thanks.

"You thought, I wanted you." It was not a question that Thranduil spoke, but a simple statement.

"If it does not sound presumptuous, then yes, I thought so," Bard admitted as he picked his things off the floor and slipped back into his shirt.

The Elvenking slightly bowed his head. "You are not wrong. But not like this. Not as a price for supplies for the winter. Even if I have the power to do it, I prefer it when my partner acts out of lust and not out of compulsion. When the snow has melted, I'll tell the guards to let you pass if you want to visit me. It is your choice. No obligation, just an offer. "

Gratefully, Bard bowed to the elf. "I am deeply in your debt, my king."

"Stay healthy and alive until spring, you and your children, then you may consider the guilt settled." In the elvish way of saying goodbye, Thranduil put his hand over his heart, then called for his guards. "Take the barrels to the wine cellar. Then lead the man to his wagon and take care of his safe journey home. Farewell, Bard of Esgaroth. "

As graceful as he could, Bard sank to his knees. "Farewell, King Thranduil."

XXXXXX

It was a good feeling with the gold in his coat pocket while Bard drove the wagon out of the Greenwood. The sun was already low, but if he hurried he would be at Roderick's place by nightfall. In his head Bard already made a list of what he would buy all in stocks. If he spent the gold wisely, he would not only be able to fill up the storeroom, but could also buy some urgently needed materials to have the children sew new coats for the winter.

`And a few buttons would be needed, too, 'Bard thought, chuckling as he wrapped his coat tighter over his open shirt. It would be hard to explain anyway how he had lost all the buttons on his hunting trip. Little Tilda would believe him and Bain was not interested in his wardrobe, but could he tell Sigrid the story of a savage beast attacking him? Hardly, next time they would really have to be more careful.

Bard almost let go of the reins in shock. So far he had not even thought about whether he would dare to travel to Lasgalen again in spring, but apparently he had subconscious already made the decision without his intervention. Not that he was averse - on the contrary - but somehow he had expected a harder fight with his morality. Maybe it was really because he was lonely, or because he had been abstinent for so long, or maybe, just maybe, it was the magic of the Elvenking he could absolutly not resist.


End file.
